Out! What do you mean? He spoke roughly, in a terrible anxiety and
anger mixed together. What are you working yourself up to all this
foolishness for?
Again she did not answer.
He went on more sternly, yet with an undercurrent of entreaty:
Come in here and take off those things and be rational. Why do you look
at me like that?
You dont careany more.
Oh, if he would snatch her to him now, and press her to his breast, that
she might feel his protecting arms around her! If he would kiss her now
with the kisses she remembered, and love her, and comfort her, and send
this horrible spirit out of her! How could he not know that that was the
way to exorcise it, that it was what her spent soul craved? How could he
keep from putting his arms around her when she was in agony?
Never in his life had her husband been less likely to do so. The wild
defiance in her eyes would have made any woman repulsive to him; he had
all a mans horror of a scene, mingled with a deeper disgust that she
should be the actress in it, and his anger was the more that he felt the
whole thing to be unnecessary. Underneath this anger, however, was the
sense of responsibility for his wifes welfare, such as one would have
for a child, no matter how outrageous.
You dont care! She whispered the words again.
No, I dont care for you when you act like this. His voice was even
sterner now; it was time that this travesty came to an end.
She stared at him as before. Then Ill go! she said wildly, and
slipped past him out of the door and into the rain, running with swift
yet uncertain footsteps down the black, wet street, listening, listening
all the time for him to followlistening as she ran. She walked more
slowly now as she listened; she had gone nearly a block already toward
the river. Oh, would he let her go? For one awful moment she feared that
this phantasm might become a reality; and yet she knew, as well as she
knew that she lived, that he would not let it be so. Yes, yes, there was
his quick, sharp tread at last, gaining on her. He walked like the angry
man he was, but the sound brought a furtive thrill of bliss to her. How
strong he was when he was angry! He had had to notice her at last; he
could think of nothing but her now.
She trembled as he came up to her. He only said in a matter-of-fact
tone, Its time to stop this now; youll get wet. He took her by the
arm and turned her around, heading for home; the mere touch of his
guiding hand on her arm sent warmth through her icy veins. She trembled
as her feet tottered beside his, her strength suddenly spent with the
breaking up of her long passion.
Neither spoke as they walked home. When they were in the house again, he
unfastened her cloak with awkward fingers, and took the dripping scarf
from her wet hair, throwing them on a chair.
She leaned her head upon his breast, clinging to him with an
inarticulate murmur for forgiveness, and he smoothed her hair for a
moment. She raised her face to his to be kissed, and he kissed her. She
humbly asked nothing; she would be satisfied with anything now. She went
up to her room, as he bade her, and when she was in bed, he came and sat
down by her, and held the hand she mutely placed in his, as her
imploring eyes asked. But he had to put a force upon himself to do it.
The whole play was distasteful and repugnant beyond words to him; it
weakened every bond that bound him to her. He sought for no
self-analyzing causes. He had so much care upon him now that more than
ever in his life before he needed diversion, sympathy, love, restrest
above everything else on earth.